


Crazy Kind of People

by AnnieVH



Series: Rumple and the Spinsters [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Family, Femslash, Fluff, Gen, Humor, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Flora is rescuing Rumpel, Fauna is waiting at home. Follows DOWN THE BRIAR PATCH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy Kind of People

_All is fine_ , Fauna repeated to herself. _You are always telling him to go out and have fun. Go play with the other boys. Go do things other boys do, instead of spending so much time locked inside the house with nothing for company but_ _his_ _aunts and a spinning wheel. He needs more friends. Needs more boyish activities. Well, disappearing at dinnertime is a very boyish activity and I hope you're proud of yourself, you_ _stupid_ _old hag. So stop worrying over nothing. All is fine. He'll come back at any moment._

But it had already been two hours.

And now Flora was gone too.

_Why did_ she _had to be the one to go?_ She _could have stayed put in case he came back home. I'm just as good at tracking as_ she _is._

Fauna suspected it had nothing to do with tracking and a lot to do with the fact that, if she found Rumpelstiltskin playing in the woods with other boys, she would at the very least drag him back home by the ear. At the very worst, she'd kill him for making her worried sick.

She took a deep breath.

Five years before, she was not like this.

She was free of worries. People referred to her as “the fun spinster”. Flora had to drag _her_ home from the woods because she had gotten too distracted listening to the birds. When did she become so... _crazy_?

_When you became a mother_ , whispered a voice inside her head.

“Right,” she said to herself. “Well, if that boy is not at the very least severely injured, I will severely injure him.”

This tight grip in her heart...  it was  inhumane .  It was cruel to make her this worried . Her head was filled with dark and bloody scenarios and she felt sick to her stomach.

_Lord, I hope he's alright. He's so small. What if he's hurt? What if he is badly hurt? What if he was taken, what if he was robbedwhatifhewascursedwhatifhe'sd-_

Flora interrupted the flow of bad ideas by opening the door and announcing, “Look who I found!”

Fauna jumped off her seat ready to smack them or hug them or, very likely, both. She was barking “Are you alright?” before she even realized the words were coming out of her mouth.

Rumpel recoiled, even though she wasn't accusing him of anything. Even her kindest words could sound like threats if Aunt Fauna was in the wrong mood. But Flora, who was much more used to her and could hear the fear behind those words, answered, “He's fine. He got trapped in a briar patch, that's all.”

Rumpel offered her a sheepish look and a “Hi, Aunt Fauna.” His eyes were red, but he wasn't crying anymore. His face was dirty and scratches seemed to cover every bit of skin she could see. His hand was still clinging to Flora's.

He did look fine. His clothes would need stitching and he would definitely need a bath, but he was as healthy and alive as the moment he had left after lunch.

_Stupid old hag. Nothing to worry about_ .

Rumpel was looking at her nervously, and she realized she had been staring at him for a few seconds without saying a word.

For the first time in two hours, she felt herself breathe. “Right.”

“Right?” Flora repeated. “Well, lets get rid of these thorns and give you something to eat,” she said to Rumpel, very gently. To Fauna, she said, even gentler, “Can you prepare some ointment for his scratches? I'm sure it's all very shallow, but you can never be too careful.”

Fauna nodded and turned quickly to fetch what she needed, not even giving the boy a second glance.

 

 

Rumpelstiltskin thought that getting the thorns out of his body would be the worst part. That it would involve a lot of painful squeezing and hours of humiliating nudity. But as it turned out, Aunt Flora was right. Even though he could _feel_ them deep inside his skin, his injuries were shallow. The thorns washed out when she poured hot water on him.

“There,” she said, pouring another pan on his back with one hand and tapping on her spindle with the other – a nervous tic she sometimes had. “I think we got all of them out.”

Rumpel shivered and rubbed his arms, fighting the cold and trying to sink as far as he could in the shallow water in the basin.

“You got very lucky,” she said.

On the other side of the curtain Flora had improvised with rags, Fauna said, “You have a funny definition of luck,” over the sound of herbs being squished.

“And how is the ointment going?” Flora asked, joining her friend on the other side of the hovel and granting the boys some privacy to rub himself clean.

“Fine,” Fauna said, her voice even, but the pestle worked furiously inside the bowl.

Flora tried to still her hand by holding it. “He _is_ alright, you know.”

But Fauna dropped the bowl on the table and walked out the door before anyone could stop her.

Rumpel pushed back the rags a little so he could look at Aunt Flora. “Is she mad?”

“No,” Aunt Flora sighed, collecting the bowl and finishing the ointment herself. “No, she's not mad.”

“I didn't do it on purpose,” he said, a little too defensive, as if Fauna's tantrum was an accusation.

“We know, we know. Here.” She pushed back the curtain to hand him the bowl, but he didn't take it.

Instead, he grimaced. “Do I have to?”

Aunt Flora smiled. “Open wounds don't heal themselves by magic.”

Reluctantly, he took the bowl from her hand and hid himself again on the other side of the curtain. Still, she could hear him mumble under his breath, “Open wounds... It's just scratches.”

Flora rolled her eyes. Teenagers could be so moody.

“Spread it all over and then wash it off,” she instructed. “Will you need any help?”

“ _Auntie_!”

“You have nothing I haven't seen, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said. Her voice was so sweet it was upsetting. “There really is no reason to be ashamed-”

“I can handle it, Auntie.”

“Alright,” she said. Then gave the door a longing look. “If you don't need me, I'll go see if Aunt Fauna needs anything.”

“Okay.”

“But if you need me to do your back, I'm-”

“I'm flexible, Auntie!”

 

 

Fauna had walked to the sheep pen they kept on the back of the house and perked herself on the fence. When Flora got there, she had shriveled into herself, arms crossed over her chest and head hanging low. As she sat by her side, Fauna closed her eyes, distancing herself even more. But Flora was patient and knew the best thing to do was to wait.

After a few minutes, Fauna confessed, “I'm sorry I told you I didn't want him.”

Flora turned to face her, but Fauna still had her eyes closed.

She argued, “You didn't tell me you didn't want him.”

“Well, I didn't.”

“You were worried about money. Every parent worries about money.”

“ _You_ weren't. You wanted him from the start.”

“Yes, but, as you often point out, I am a sentimental idiot.”

She spoke in good nature, but the remark made Fauna go quiet again. Flora pulled her head to her shoulder and allowed her a moment of silence.

The second confession soon followed: “I wouldn't be happy to get rid of him-”

“You are filling your head” Flora interrupted, firmly, “with the most irrelevant worries. Rumpel is fine. He doesn't doubt that you love him. And _I_ do not doubt that you want him here. Not for a second.”

Fauna breathed in deeply, and then spent a very long moment letting the air out.

“When did I become _this_?”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother,” she said, finally looking at her companion. “When did I become my mother?”

Flora looked at her very carefully, unsure of what to say.

“I remember she was worried,” Fauna said, as if Flora were accusing her of something. “That much I remember. Always worried. Always wondering where I had gone, what I was doing, who I was with, why I was late-”

“I always knew you were a trouble child.”

Fauna scoffed. “Shut it.”

But Flora just laughed harder. “That is your bad influence rubbing off on my son, you know.”

“Sure, blame it on me,” she said, but her voice was lighter now. After a moment, she asked, “Is he really alright?”

“He is. I told him to put the ointment on. And he made it very clear that he doesn't want our help,” she added, as if that baffled her.

Fauna looked at her genuinely confused. “Why?”

Flora shrugged. “I don't know. I suppose it's a-”

“Teenage thing. Or maybe because-”

“He's a boy, yes. Children.”

Fauna smiled. “Children.”

Flora smiled back. Then reached for her hand. “Lets give him a few minutes to himself.”

“And do what? Watch the stars?”

Flora shrugged. “And why not? It's been a long day.”

Fauna put a lot of effort into rolling her eyes. “You _are_ sentimental.”

Flora giggled and pulled her head back to her shoulder with her free hand.

 

 


End file.
